Nightmare
by Anna Scathach
Summary: I'm running, fleeing, to escape. The horror of what is behind me is unimaginable. I run. It hurts, oh it hurts so much. Bella PoV. Oneshot.


_A/N: It's been a long time since I've written anything Twilight-related. This oneshot from Bella'S PoV fits in the whole Halloween theme, but I guess I'm a little late for that, huh?_

_Disclaimer: Nothing's mine. It's all Stephenie Meyer's._

**Warning: Blood. Gore. **

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_**Nightmare**_

I'm running, running. I am running and running, as fast as I can. Faster, faster, why won't my feet move faster? I'm running, fleeing, to escape. The horror of what is behind me is unimaginable. So I run. I run, yet my legs are already starting to feel sore. It hurts, oh it hurts so much.

I'm running. Although I feel I won't be fleeing for much longer, I refuse to give in. Forward, forward, following the path that leads to an unknown place, I run. I feel my legs are about to give in. I groan. Not now, I know I'm not far, not far from deliverance. And oh, it hurts, it hurts. My legs start shaking, but I will them to move, to carry my bleeding body forward. I have to escape.

I am running faster and faster, so fast that my legs have started trembling and my whole body is shaking. I can't bear it any longer. But I have to run, I must run. Now, far, far away from this place. I do not want to be here. What am I doing here? Who brought me here? What am I doing?

The only thing I know is that I have to run. Now. And then I hear those footsteps behind me. I'm too afraid to turn around. I am running. Now someone – or something – is chasing me. I know the only thing keeping me escaping is my will, the absolute need to leave, to flee.

The footsteps are approaching, I can hear their crunching on the mud-covered road. I run. Strangely the footsteps seem to slow down, yet I hear them coming up behind me. Why won't my legs move faster?

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. My feet are tapping an irregular rhythm on the street now. Tap, crunch, tap. Faster and faster they move. The sound is almost deafening to my ears, although I know it shouldn't be. I am light, my body should not make an impact this loud. My breathing is loud in the absolute silence surrounding me.

In and out. Why am I the only one breathing? I can almost feel my hunter's breath on my neck, his footsteps sound so near. He must be catching up with me. I can almost smell his breath now. It smells like mint and metal and mud.

Mud? How could anyone smell like mud? And metal, for that matter? Who would willingly eat metal and mud? I don't care. I am running, running, running. My feet are beginning to ache. My legs feel heavy, but somehow I am still moving.

The cold air is burning on my lips. In and out, my breath comes irregularly. It hurts so much. Breathe. Focus. Run! It feels as if the air were burning in my lungs, sharp and cutting like razors. The razors are scrapping my mouth. I groan.

Behind me, I can still hear the footsteps on the path. And again I feel someone's breath on my neck. I force my feet to move. I am running. How long will I be able to keep this up? My feet are a burning mass now. The sharp stones beneath the mud have sliced open my shoes, my feet are bleeding. I continue running. I bite down on my lip, hard, to keep me from crying out in pain when I step on a loose root. Oh, it hurts. I can't stand the pain. And the smell of blood dripping from my mouth is making me want to throw up. Blood. Pain. It's all too much. I am running, but for how long?

I feel my ankle twisting. Everything is moving slowly, as though a dream. My ankle is twisting, my leg gives in and slowly, ever so slowly, I am falling. I brace my hands and prepare for the impact. Then the world is moving normally again.

The ground is coming towards me at a surreal speed. My follower is still there. Icy hands touch my arms. I gasp and struggle, but there's no way out. The breathing in my neck becomes faster and faster, I can feel a mouth on my skin, and a tongue licking in a deliberate tender way across my shoulder. Sharp teeth are grazing my neck. I shudder. What is going on?

I open my mouth to cry, to shout, to scream for help; to beg for mercy. Then his hand is on my mouth, and I can't move anymore. He throws me to the ground, I hit the stony path and –

I awake in the arms of my beloved Edward.

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_A/N: Please review! Constructive criticism is always appreciated._

_Anna Scathach  
_


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